Tell me a bedtime story
by pretense
Summary: He didn't know when his customary goodnight kisses moved from the top of the boy's ashen blonde mop of hair to his pink, pouty lips. UK/US Shotacon. Do not be deceived by the innocent title! Oneshot


**Title: **Tell me a bedtime story

**Pairing: **England/colonial!America

**Genre: **Romance

**Rating: **T

**Summary: **He didn't know when his customary goodnight kisses moved from the top of the boy's ashen blonde mop of hair to his pink, pouty lips. Shotacon. Do not be deceived by the innocent title!!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Hetalia, because if I did, THIS story would be canon and I don't really imagine that to be a good thing with most of the fandom.

**x-x-x**

A weary hand grasps the velvety fabric of the curtain, bright green irises locked at the waning crescent moon – bright and gleaming against the deep blue canvas of the sky and its pewter gray clouds. A cool breeze brushed by sending shivers down his frame as he breathed in the distinct earthy smell brought to him. It had just stopped raining.

There were very few passersby on the street below, most of them unfortunate ones who got struck in the rain with no umbrella and were now racing home before another spell of rain comes over them.

The creak of the door alerts the Briton of another presence in the room and he takes his time shutting the window he had been standing against for the past fifteen minutes. Pulling the red velvet curtains over them before he turned around, the green-eyed nation pushes away the exhaustion from his mien. A soft smile breaks on his face as his eyes spy an ash blonde head peeping almost shyly at the crack of the white-painted door, half of the young face was hidden behind the wood such that his azure eyes appear to glow in the dim light of the room.

"Good evening, America," the older nation says by way of greeting, walking over to the door and opening it completely for his charge.

The small boy eagerly throws his arms around the other man's waist, burying his face into the linen frock over the abdominal area. "Welcome home," the child mumbles into the shirt, taking in the sweet smell of roses as a warm hand pats the top of his head.

"Yes, yes, I'm home," England chuckles to himself as he could feel the small nation's inhales through the fabric of his clothes. "How have you been, America? I daresay it's already pretty late, why are you still up?"

With a final inhale, America raises his face towards the world-wide Empire. "I've missed you much, England," he admits as a reply to the question. "Tell me you won't be leaving soon."

"I won't," England assures him, gently undoing the small hands clasped together at his back and taking one in his own as he leads the younger nation towards the bed. It was a large four-poster made of cherry wood. Silver-lined midnight green textile hung from the canopy with the bed sheets and pillows donning the same shade of color.

America lets out a small giggle as hands hoist him up by the armpits and he is set down on the bouncy mattress where he rolls around for a bit before sitting up, anxiously patting down the folds of his periwinkle nightgown as he did so. He then smiled credulously up at the Briton, delighted to see a smile playing on the man's lips.

"I've been keeping your room clean while you were away, England," the young nation proclaims with pride, "The garden, too! I'll show you the roses tomorrow, okay? Because you should really see them, all red and pretty and England was the one who planted them there!"

"I'm very happy that you're doing well, then," the straw-blonde nation replies, kneeling down beside the bed to align the energetic boy's forgotten slippers before leaving his own beside them as he climbed into the four-poster.

Almost immediately, the Briton found his lap occupied by his eager colony – smiling widely with legs on either side of him as small hands reached out to his face. The small palms rested on his cheek for a moment before they rose higher, following the two sets of agile little fingers that had made their way to the man's bushy eyebrows.

The English nation wore a smirk, watching the young American giggle as his fingertips met with the soft bristles of the thick brows.

"Yep, you're my England, alright," America declares, his azure eyes sparkling as they held the gaze of a forest green pair.

"Because of my eyebrows?" the Briton asks, raising a brow – earning him a giggle from the younger male whose fingertips (still upon his eyebrows) had followed their short, upward jerk.

"Yep," nods the colonial nation, smiling brightly; further emphasizing his point as he playfully runs his fingers through them. "You're the only – and I mean _only_ – person that I know whose eyebrows are thick like that."

"I must have you meet with Ireland soon, then," England mutters offhandedly, reclining further against the pillows behind him. It had been a tiring day indeed, going around the thirteen colonies and checking on how everything had gone since his last visit – which was at least a year ago. A year… Dear lord, how time flies. He hadn't quite expected to be away from the New World for so long, but he had other duties to attend to – he had so many other colonies to check on and there was also that situations back home that he'd rather not dwell on at all; well not right now, at least.

"England?" America's subdued voice breaks England from his train of thought and his dazed green eyes refocus on the ash blonde boy's earnest features.

"Sorry, my mind had drifted off," the Briton mumbles an apology, taking hold of the younger nation's hands and pressing the both of them against his lips. "Forgive me, America, were you saying something?"

Cheeks tainted with pink, a small pout formed on America's lips as he pulls his hand away from England's hold and crosses them over his chest. "Did you miss me at all, England?" he asks, narrowing his eyes.

The Englishman resisted the urge to laugh. Instead, he smiled at his charge and wrapped his arms around the boy's waist, pulling the young nation flush against his chest. "I missed you a lot, America," he admitted, bowing his head such that his shadow fell came over the boy. "No second would pass without me thinking of you…"

The azure-eyed nation doesn't appear to be fazed as his face scrunches up in disbelief. "You were hanging out with Australia again," America accuses, his crossed arms serving as a buffer between him and England. "And with Seychelles, and Cyprus, and Hong Kong…" His cheeks consequentially puffed up bigger as he began to list out the other colonies that he remembers the man has a hold of all around the world. "And Canada! I bet you stayed over at Canada the longest, didn't you?"

"America–"

"I should have known you liked him better. With his stupid maple trees, and maple leaves and maple syrup, and–!"

"America," England couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him as he cups his little colony's puffed up cheeks. "Don't be silly, my boy."

America merely 'hmph'-ed and turned his gaze to the side.

"Come now, America, do stop acting up," England appeased, raising his right hand and lacing it through the nation's ash blonde locks. "You know that's not true."

"Then tell me I'm the best."

"You are," England whispers in assurance, smiling softly as he tilts up the boy's chin making the gleaming blue eyes stare back into his own. "There is no competition, America, so stop acting so insecure," he murmurs, licking his lips before grazing them over the slightly parted ones of his young colony.

America involuntarily gasps when the Briton's mouth touches upon his own – feather light, soft, supposedly chaste.

England pulls back after a few meager seconds but their faces are still close enough that he could feel the heat emanating from his charge's bright red cheeks. Eyelids lower half-way as his thumb caresses the boy's rose pink lips. "Are you still going to ask questions, America?" he murmurs, threading his right hand through the ash blonde locks and down the American's back.

The nation uncrosses his arms and places both his hands on the one that England had on his chin. He pressed the Empire's left hand against his cheek and nuzzled his face against its palm; eyes closing as he looses himself in the older man's smell and warmth. After a few moments, bright azure eyes open up to find England smiling softly at him. "Y-You don't treat any of the others like this, too, d-do you…?" his small voice is shaking as he voices out the fear that was lodged in his heart.

He liked this – sharing little kisses with England – it made him feel good and nice because it was England and him and them alone. He was already very unhappy with how England had to constantly leave him to see his other colonies and the kisses that they shared made him feel better because (from what he'd seen in his citizens) only two people who were very close to each other kissed. But he still couldn't help feeling so uncertain, not when his time with the world Empire was always so limited.

"What are you saying, my dear?" England asks, pulling the young nation against him, placing another light kiss on those inviting lips.

America's senses jolted when England's lips touch him for the second time – wrecking the iron lock that he'd been using to keep his childish fears at bay. And when the blonde man starts to pull away, small hands promptly latch onto his jaws, pulling the Briton back as azure eyes screwed shut. America's kisses were sloppy and ardent, lips pressing firmly against England who was quick to respond with kisses of his own.

Half-lidded forest green eyes watch the seemingly hungry expression on the American's face as they kissed. When he finally ran out of breath, the blue-eyed nation reluctantly pulled back, hot puffs of his breath passing through his wet lips. "Tell me, England," America begins, raising his watery eyes towards the Englishman. "Tell me you don't kiss them like this, too… Tell me your kisses are only for me and nobody else…" His hands increase their pressure on England's cheeks. "Please, England…"

"My sweet, sweet America," England breathed after hearing out the young nation, he pulls America to his chest and sets his chin atop the ash blonde head. "Hush now, don't cry," the blonde man soothes, running a hand up and down the boy's back. "I have never even thought of kissing any other colony. And yes, my kisses are for you and you alone. Not for Canada, not Hong Kong, not Jamaica, India, New Zealand, Australia or anybody else."

Small arms wrap tightly around the Briton's chest as America buries his face at the crook of the older nation's neck. He mumbles something against the nation's fair skin and England bristles.

"D-Did, ah, did you say something, America?" England asks, his hands settling on the small of the nation's back, rubbing against the soft periwinkle fabric of the nightgown.

America shifts in his seat, consequently tightening his grip on the Empire. He turns his head to the side, whispering in a rather pained voice.

The Briton's breath hitches and he embraces his colony tighter. "Yes," he murmurs against the ash blonde locks of hair, the smell of apple and cinnamon filling his senses. "Yes I do, America…"

America pulls himself out from the crook of England's neck and a smile breaks on his features prompted by the quick kiss England has set on the corner of his mouth.

"I want to sleep here tonight, England," America says, unlocking and then reattaching his arms around the Englishman's neck. "With you."

With an easy smile, England hauls the petite child towards the space beside him on the mattress as he moves to lay down himself. England stretches out his right arm and America is quick to use it as his pillow. The ash blonde nation snuggles up against the Empire, arms serenely folded together and sandwiched between his and England's chests.

The Briton's left hand brushes away the young nation's bangs, taking his time in tucking away stray ashen blonde strands of hair behind America's ear.

The delighted colony pushes himself up and presses a 'thank you' kiss onto the other nation's lips. He smiles into their lip lock when he felt England's hand move down his side, settling low on his hips; consequently pulling them closer again.

"Open your mouth," England mumbles in the middle of their kiss, America only looks confused for a moment but obliges without question.

Bright azure eyes widen when he finds England's tongue slipping into his mouth. A moan erupts in his throat as the hand on his hip massage its way lower. The new sensation starts up sparks of electricity in the young nation's small body and his hands grab onto the collar of England's frock as the Briton's tongue starts to map every part of his mouth.

Flushed red from head to toe, America's breaths are hot and heavy when England breaks the kiss.

"Did I go too far, America?" England asks, straining to keep his hand away from the folds of the periwinkle nightgown, focusing instead on lightly rubbing his hand against the clothed thigh just to give his restless hand something to do.

America is quick to shake his head, suppressing a moan and a shudder as the area between his thighs start to heat up – England's hand was only so close. "Please continue," he mumbles, "I'm feeling so warm, England… down there… M-Maybe you can – ah!"

England didn't need to be told twice.

* * *

A small groan escape the Englishman's lips as he awakes, the room is cool with the red velvet curtains blocking out the sunlight. A slight movement on his right turns his forest green eyes towards an ashen blonde boy snuggled against his side wearing an expression of blissful sleep. His lips melt into a smile as he realizes that their breathing patterns completely coincide.

England closes his eyes once more, drawing the midnight green covers higher over their bare bodies. He entwines his hand with the small one resting on his chest and sighs in contentment.

'My beautiful twisted sunshine…'

**x-x-x**

**A/N: **If I broke anyone's brain with the story then I do beg for forgiveness. If it's any condolence, um, no penetration happened… :) [well, that's what I have in mind since America has the body of a 12/13 year old kid here… of course you could just ignore that and let them have their smexy timez ;D].

I don't think I've ever researched so much about beds and houses 'til I was writing this, I mean, my internet had tabs on Gregorian Colonial houses, Walnut colonial beds, 1700s clothing and even a color wheel just so I could describe things right. – 3 –

I'm not so sure if Ireland's the one who has thicker brows than England amongst the British Isles, so please don't hesitate to correct me. :D

America is one greedy kid; clingy, too. And England is… yeah.


End file.
